


A Person for a Moment of My Life

by augusteofarles



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Damen goes in as a spy, Drug Use, Dystopia, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Modern AU, Non-Consensual Drug Use, probably not, this fic will likely go to some pretty dark places, this was mildly inspired by the handmaid's tale, vere has fallen under a totalitarian regime, will i ever stop using Hozier quotes for fic titles?, you can guess who he meets there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augusteofarles/pseuds/augusteofarles
Summary: The Republic of Vere has fallen under a totalitarian rule. Damen is sent in as a spy.Vaguely inspired by The Handmaid’s Tale





	A Person for a Moment of My Life

Damen felt the wind pick up, rustling the fabric of his thin T-shirt and sending a quiet shiver through his body. There was a crisp coldness in the air around him, the water surrounding him dampening it with perspiration. It reminded Damen of the family beach house on the shores of Isthima, the cool wet-sand feel underneath his feet as the waves crashed and ebbed away. He would not be reaching a beach house today, and the chill he felt was not the tranquil winds of Akielos. 

“When we reach the shore, you’ll be met by Radel,” said Loren, his voice strained by the effort of keeping a large motorboat on path in the midst of a storm. Damen nodded and raised his head to the sky. Any minute now the howling winds would be followed by rain. Off in the distance the high cliff was expanding, taking up all of Damen’s peripheral vision.

There were four men accompanying him in total, all dressed in strict, constricting, black clothing, one more solemn than the other. When they had met him at the shore, the three had not introduced themselves, nor had they said much else, standing in the background like statues. The fourth, a dark bearded man who seemed to have jumped out of an ancient pirate’s tale, a scar running down the side of his chin, had simply said  _ I am Loren. I will be taking you across the river,  _ and had taken his place by the wheel expectantly waiting for Damen to follow. It had taken a moment for it to sink in that that was all the preamble Damen was going to get, before he had stepped into the boat.

“How will we get up there?” He asked.

Loren spared him a wordless glance, after which Damen did not break the silence again. 

There was a stark and startling contrast between Damen in his worn out jeans, plain white T-shirt, and sneakers and the Veretian men in their strange, antiquated clothing. Damen wrapped his arms around himself, closing the exposed part of his jacket against the cold. He looked back to the shore he had come from, thinking of the secure, simple structures and the streets further away. He thought of the uncomplicated and facile life he was leaving behind.

And then he turned.

Loren docked the ship by the shore in an easy, efficient fashion that spoke of years of experience.

There was a man standing by the dock, likely in his early fifties, his hair graying on the sides. He was dressed like the men on the boat, except that his clothes were of a dark blue and less worn out. It was unlikely that he spent his days at sea as old Loren and his crew.

“You must be Damen,” the man said. 

“Yes sir.”

“We’ve been expecting you,” he said in a tone that did nothing to hide his displeasure at waiting for Damen’s arrival. 

“I am Radel. Follow me” he said, turned, and began walking towards the cliff. No preamble and pleasantries. 

Damen turned back to the boat, unsure of what he was looking for exactly. Maybe a futile attempt at a goodbye? A _sure was a fun ride_ _huh? We should do it again sometime_ or maybe he just needed proof that the men hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. But the boat was already moving, Loren at the wheel with his crew of statues, four empty eyes that seemed to be looking at nothing in particular. 

Damen’s earlier question was answered, as Radel led him to an elevator, large and imposing, built into the side of the cliff. A man made technology in the midst of wilderness. As it rose, Damen’s eyes followed Loren’s boat, getting smaller and smaller, a speck in the river that separated the countries of Vere and Akielos and expanded into the Ellosean sea.

“You will be given a change of clothing,” Radel said. “The outside fashions are not suitable for the Republic of Vere.” 

Damen nodded. The elevator twanged and grinded noisily above them but Radel’s face, aside from the creases of displeasure at Damen’s unseemly fashion sense, did not indicate worry. 

When the elevator stopped, they were faced with a large structure with long, vertical windows tinted black so that nothing of the inside could be seen from the outside. It would look like a regular office building except that it was by a river and was manned by five men at the large twin doors of its entrance. Damen was sure there were more entrances and more guards but the timing for inquiry was not ideal. 

Any structure near the border would be manned to the hilt no matter how tolerant Akielos had been of Vere’s regime over the past decades. When the guards with their automatic weapons saw their arrival, they spoke a few words into their ear pieces and then wordlessly opened the doors for Damen and Radel. Two guards entered before them and led the way.

Damen found himself walking down narrow halls, the fluorescent lights lining the ceiling blinding after the gloomy early morning darkness outside. It felt like a mix between a hospital corridor and a governmental facility. The quiet of the room was only broken by the clanking of their shoes on the immaculately clean linoleum floors which reflected the lights above and added to the utter brightness. They passed more guards and endless doors with keypad locks on them and when the man at his front abruptly stopped at one of them, Damen almost ran into him. He dialed a code into the keypad, the screen pinged from red to green and the door opened. The room Damen was led inside was small with no furnishing aside from a small table and a singular chair. 

For a brief, panicked moment, Damen wondered if they would walk out and the door would ping and lock behind them.

But then Radel stepped forward, somehow commanding in the presence of men twice his side and holding semi automatics, and spoke. Damen had almost forgotten he was there. 

“A car will arrive soon,” he said. 

Damen was to dispose of all electronic devices and change into an appropriate attire. He was to sit and wait. He was not to wonder off. Damen found that the presence of three armed men ensured the last part but said nothing as Radel left the room. The men did not speak. 

A few silent moments passed, in which Damen retraced the steps they had taken. The building was enormous and Damen wondered what its main purpose was. Likely more than welcoming foreign Akielons. What lay behind the other locked doors?

“Change into these,” one of the guards said after depositing a neatly folded set of clothing on the small chair. 

Damen waited. The men stared back.

Privacy was in sparsity in Vere, Damen had been made well aware of this fact.  _ Learn to take advantage of all that you are given,  _ Makedon had said. 

Yet the prospect of stripping down in front of three armed men was unsettling. Damen reckoned he would be faced with many unsettling things in Vere. 

He took off his jacket, his pants and his shirt. The men waited patiently. Quietly. 

His new clothing was dark and conservative, monotone, except for the red crest adorned on the left side of his jacket; two crossed bows, a golden eagle with spread wings protruding from the center, and at the very top, an eye.

The crest of the new Republic of Vere. 

Damen had seen it before. Had spent sleepless nights going through file after file, obscure remnants of research that had been obtained through sweat and blood over the years since the coup. And the crest, the one constant, ominous thread in a whirlwind of horror.

And now Damen wore it on his chest. 

A few minutes after he had finished, Radel entered again giving him a thorough once-over. Damen thought he noticed a shift in the twist of his mouth. Not appreciation or approval, but like one looks at a haphazardly finished product. A science project due in a few hours for which you paste the pictures on the board the night before, knowing it’s as good as its going to get.

They walked down the halls again, making a right, a left and down a set of stairs to what turned out to be a back exit where a large black car waited, for  _ them _ it seemed. Absurdly, he found his hand moving to the pocket of his pants before he reminded himself that his phone lay in a plastic container, all the way in the locked room which the guards may have tossed out the window for all he knew. It was ridiculous to be caught off guard at something so minuscule and Damen forced himself to stop acting like a teenager whose parents had cut him off of Instagram cold turkey. 

***

As the car moved out of the parking lot and down a winding road, Damen divided his attention between Radel’s words and the world outside his window, the buildings and structures coming into view.

_ This is Vere _ , he thought. 

He’d waited for this moment for so long that he felt somewhat outside of himself now, as though he was looking from beyond the border, still. 

Radel was giving a rousing speech about the greatness of their Republic and about Damen’s dumb luck for not only being let inside its walls, but for having been given the  _ privilege _ of working for the Regent himself. 

In short, Damen and anyone outside of the Republic of Vere were foul, deceitful and untrue, and Damen, the lost and  _ spoiled by the outside world  _ man that he was, was being saved.

If every ounce of information of this place wasn’t of the utmost importance, Damen would have either zoned him out by now or come close to throwing him out of the side window. It was the driver’s voice cutting through the spiel that caught him off guard. He had been quiet since the beginning of the ride, much like every other unknown background face that Damen had come across in his short time in Vere and it was almost surprising to hear a voice that didn’t belong to Radel.

“Don’t mind Radel,” said the driver, glancing at him through the rear view mirror. “You listen to him for too long you might develop Van Gogh syndrome. How you think I lost my ear?” 

This prompted another speech from Radel except that this time it was for him  _ and  _ the driver, whom he called Lazar. Lazar kept quiet after but winked at him through the side mirror, pointing to his left ear which was indeed missing, a red gash in its place. Damen tried not to wonder what actually happened to it as the car fell mercifully silent.

There weren’t many cars in the streets as they drove by, and Damen felt the strangeness of it all. Mere hours ago he had been sitting in traffic, bustling streets outside, annoyed drivers at his sides, and Nikandros’ voice bursting through his car’s speakers.

This looked like a quiet suburban town, a bit like the ones in Thrace with it’s neat symmetrical houses, and clean streets, except that in place of white fences and laughing children he was met with metal gates and armed guards. Here and there, he could spot groups of people walking around, all in their uniform, immaculate clothing, grays and blacks and greens and a few in purple. At one point he saw a young girl in a dark red dress, and it would not have caught his eye as something unlike the rest were it not for the bright red hood that was draped over her head. Briefly, he thought, it seemed as though she met his eyes through the window, her head low but curious and Damen wondered if she could see through the tint. But just as quickly, as though caught in the act, she turned away and ahead towards the guard walking before her and Damen was left with nothing but the sight of the red fabric rustling in the wind. 

The Regent’s house, as it turned out, was a short distance from the border. Damen had often questioned the merits of one of the most important men in Vere living so close to a border, as opposed to Arles, where he would be at the center and away from threats from the outside. But then, he supposed, the Regent was known as a man who took risks and wise ones at that. He wouldn’t have climbed his way to the top of the tower had he not.

The Regent’s house was large and ornate. It felt more fitting to call it a mansion and if it weren’t for Damen’s own privileged upbringing, it would have taken him off guard, given him a moment of pause to stare with his mouth hanging open. 

Radel led him forward, the car and Lazar already off in the distance. It would take some time to figure out the ins and outs, the routine of this place. Today was likely not the day it would happen. 

They went up a grand set of stairs where Radel stopped him at the large, red, twin doors. 

“This is a respected household,” he said. “It is of great importance to you and everyone involved that you take this job seriously. You will act appropriately. You will use proper language. You will do as you are told and you will leave the ways of your past on the other side of those shores. The Regent is a great man. He is a hero to this nation. A son of the revolution who has raised us from the pits of decay, poverty and economic destruction and brought us up to the prosperity that you see around you. You are granted the honor of keeping his household safe and it is a high honor.” He looked forward and then back at him again. “Is this clear?” 

Damen kept his eyes on Radel and his hands deliberately unclenched. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice even. Radel did not look convinced, or it was more accurate to say that he was not pleased with the decision of Damen’s hire. 

The doors opened to a bright hallway, which separated at the end and led to a long stairway to the left and continued onward to a large room. As soon as Damen had crossed the threshold, he could here the low sounds of classical music playing in the far distance. Large windows lined the right corner of the living room, letting in the bright light of a sunless day that was just on the brink of becoming gloomy. Momentarily, Damen was reminded of the fluorescent lights of the riverside building. 

There were two men sitting on ornate armchairs, seemingly deep in a discussion. Across from them sat a woman, or rather sprawled on a small, lavish sofa with two different sets of pillows. Everything about the scene, from the women’s delicate lavender gown, the men’s three piece suits to the large gold plated vinyl player that was the apparent source of the tune, was drenched in extravagance. Maybe it was due to the unexpected lavishness of the picture before him that it took him a moment to notice the two figures standing to the left, upright and facing away from him to the center of the room where the men and woman sat. The woman, when she noticed him sat up and stood, smiling tooth to tooth like she’d just seen a giant cake. 

“You must be the new security!” She said and walked towards him. She wore her hair mostly down, the left side secured with a lily shaped lavender brooch, her curls falling and bouncing with her movements. She had a long silver earring in her right ear. The men stood when they noticed him, sparing him an inquiring glance. Radel urged him forward. “Yes ma’am,” Damen said. 

“It’s so rare to see outsiders nowadays,” the woman said and looked at him like one would look at an exotic bird in a zoo. 

“It sure is,” one of the men said. He was short enough to have to strain his neck when speaking to him. “We don’t get visitors often,” he said, the other man humming in agreement, as though the lack of tourists was due to bad whether and not the threat of execution. “How are you finding Vere thus far?”

“Welcoming, sir.” 

The woman’s smile grew impossibly bigger at that and her movements more animated. They must celebrate the occasion, she announced. 

“Terrible what happened to the other one,though,” said the short man, “Orent was it?” 

“Orlant,” Vaness corrected, mild irritation leaking through momentarily before the smile was on full view again.

“That’s right,” said the man. This opened up a conversation between the three and Damen took the opportunity to inspect his surrounding, survey the room and get a feel of the place. At every corner, there seemed to be some sort of decoration, an ornate vase here, a detailed painting there. 

He turned his head to the left and had to fight the urge to physically step back. An Icy cold gaze bore into him, eyes impossibly blue. Standing here now, Damen got a good view of what he had only briefly noticed at first. A tall, lean man stood to the side of the room, shoulders straight and arms clasped at his back. The light from the window behind him outlined his features, made the blond of his hair impossibly lighter, shed a light on the delicate skin of his neck. The severe darkness of his clothing lay in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. Damen’s breath caught in his throat for more reasons than one. Next to him stood a younger boy, twelve at the most, his hands clasped at his sides, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking every bit the bored kid that he was. 

“Oh my, we haven’t even introduced ourselves,” the woman said, reminding Damen of where he was. He tore his eyes away, though the man did not seem too concerned with doing the same, and turned toward the woman. 

“I’m Vaness,” she said extending her hand and then adding a second hand when Damen shook hers. One of the suited men introduced himself as Guion, while the other didn’t bother giving a name at all. 

“Damen,” he said and shook Guion’s hand, and then the unknown man’s. He turned to the side towards the blond man, with the intention of shaking his hand next, but Guion was speaking again, a hand on his shoulder, as though all introductions were done with. 

“Why don’t I give you the grand tour,” he said excitedly. Damen drew back his hand, momentarily frozen until Radel gave him what he was quickly learning was  _ the gaze of utter displeasure.  _ Guion urged him onward, toward the rest of the house. Damen nodded and followed, sparing a quick glance back into the room at the door to find the man’s gaze still on him. He couldn’t be sure whether he saw annoyance in the blue of his eyes, or anger. He walked with Guion in silence for some time, the hallways seemingly endless. He seemed to be organizing his thoughts in his head. Or maybe he was measuring up Damen. 

“How is your time in Vere, thus far?” He asked, repeating a question that Damen had already answered back in the room. 

“I’ve enjoyed it,” he said. “Though it’s colder than I’m used to.” 

“Wait until it’s wintertime,” said Guion with a chuckle. They stepped out into what looked like a backyard, if the backyard belonged to a ruler of a country, which by all means and purposes, it did. 

“There are many on the outside that do not understand the nature of our nation,” said Guion. “And so, I hope you will not find it surprising that I ask why someone like you,” he gave him a once over as he said it, “would choose to leave your own ways and enter our borders.” 

Damen had rehearsed this many times. Mostly with Makedon and then again in private with Nikandros. They’d meddled over what questions he would be asked, what his background should entail, how he felt about Vere and it’s new regime. How trustworthy could Damen be. How unhappy he’d felt in his own country. In the end, however, they had settled onto a final answer: money. It wasn’t too out of the park. Damen wouldn’t be the first Akielon who would be seduced by money to put away all morals and agree to work with a totalitarian regime that had left a wake of death and destruction in its path. Except that, a man after money would never admit to it. This is where came the lies that were made to be transparent. 

And so Damen spoke. About how hard the Akielon economy was hit in the latest recession. About how crooked and corrupt the Akielon politicians were. About how Damen had lost job after job. About how he was looking for something new. Something that would give him the opportunities that he had been missing in Akielos. A place where he would be valued and appreciated. An intricate story laced with apparent falseness to mask what Damen was supposedly after: wealth. 

The words, when he had first practiced them, had left a sour aftertaste in his mouth. Even now, after so much time and the direness of his situation, they felt wrong leaving his mouth. When Damen had voiced his doubts about the backstory, Makedon had given him a strange look. 

_ Would they really believe I’d close my eyes at their ways for money?  _ Damen had asked. 

_ Money is ever the only reason they will believe,  _  Makedon had said. 

Guion was quiet for some time after. “Rest assured, we value our workers in Vere,” he said, leaning on the hospital-white veranda. “The atoners are in safe hands.” He stared off towards the large fountain in the middle of a field of grass, tapped his fingers on the wood. Damen wanted to ask what he had meant, but Guion was speaking again. 

“The Regent will be pleased with you,” he said. “Unfortunately he is a busy man and business keeps him away from his home often.” 

Damen had wondered on his whereabouts. It was likely for the best that he wasn’t here now. It would give Damen time to prepare. 

***

When Guion departed along with the other man, Damen wondered why he, himself given the short tour of the house when he did not live there. The men’s departure seemed to change the atmosphere of the house, as though a weight had been lifted. 

An hour later, after he was given a tour of what seemed to be a separate wing of the house, a simpler and less ornate portion which also housed the room he would be sleeping in, he was led to a large kitchen. He fought the urge to hide or shrink back when he met blond's judging eyes again. The little boy was sat at a high chair by his side, playing with a plate of food. 

Radel introduced them as Laurent and Nicaise, though it was less of an introduction and more of an information of people who weren’t actually present in the room. “Your responsibilities lie with them. You are to guard them and accompany them in their daily tasks. The safety of atoners is of great importance to our republic and any careless or lazy behavior that you may be accustomed to outside our borders will not be tolerated here.”

“That’s enough, Radel,” said Vaness, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, if her previous behavior was anything to go by. “Let the man breath.” She held a glass of wine in one hand and took a sip from it slowly, and then her eyebrows rose up like she had remembered something. “You must be starving,” she said to Damen. “Lana would you mind getting Damen something to eat? Lana makes the most delicious roast chicken and rice you’re likely to have tasted.” Lana, who had been so quiet that Damen had barely noticed her in the far corner of the large kitchen, blushed and with a quiet  _ yes ma’am _ , went to work, reheating the meal. 

“Thank you,” Damen said. He was having a hard time focusing on Vaness’ words, his eyes shifting back to the blond, Laurent, who was casually leaning against the kitchen island, a calm, almost lazy vibe to the set of his pale brows. His clothes were an almost exact match to Nicaise’s, a dark red which came closer to being black, with the exception of the Veretian crest adorned on the upper corner of his chest. There was an intricate pattern of golden laces running along his elbows all the way down to the edge of his wrists and up towards his neck. Damen couldn’t remembered seeing this particular style on anyone else, with the exception of Nicaise. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and heat it up for all of us?” Vanes was saying, setting out five plates herself. There seemed to be a nervous sort of animation in her at the mere idea of them having dinner together. Damen felt a small weight fall of his shoulders at the thought that she was including Laurent and Nicaise. Radel, obviously displeased at the idea, made a sudden departure. 

Damen found himself thinking back on the living room earlier in the day, and moments earlier, when Radel had spoken of Laurent and Nicaise, how they seemed to have been molded into the room, part of the decorations, their presence utterly ignored. He had known that Vere was ruled with a strict code of social hierarchy, but it was one thing to read about out, and another to witness it. He thought of how he had been expected to ignore them along with the rest and how he _had_ , in the end. He felt something terrible gnaw in his gut. 

“I’m Damen, by the way,” Damen said moving his gaze directly at Laurent to make his intention clear. Laurent was still looking at him, the same indecipherable expression on his face. He was moving a delicate finger on the porcelain of the island, mindlessly drawing a pattern that Damen couldn’t decipher. 

“I heard,” he said, voice drenched in indifference. There was a snorting sound to his left and then the quiet kitchen was filled with the sound of Nicaise’s laughter. 

“What the hell sort of name is that anyway?” Nicaise said, through more laughs and bites of food. Damen thought it was the common sort of name but supposed it wasn’t by Veretian standards. “I don’t want him sitting by me,” Nicaise declared, and went back to moving the food around on his plate. 

“Nicaise, behave yourself,” Vaness said, though there was no real malice in her voice, and sent Damen an apologetic look. “Apologize,” she told Nicaise. Nicaise gave her a look as though she had lied to his face and then stabbed him through the back and then turned to Damen. “I’m sorry,” he said, false niceness falling off his words. “Sorry that you’re not gonna last a week in Vere,” he said and followed it up with another bout of laughter. 

One side of Laurent’s pink mouth lifted up in a half smile. His lips looked soft, Damen thought before he could forcefully stop himself. 

“Laurant, tell him,” Vaness said, a sort of urgency in her voice now. She seemed to be wanting to leave a good impression on Damen for reasons that Damen couldn’t understand. 

“Behave, Nicaise,” Laurent said flatly, like one would read an IKEA manual, and didn’t move his gaze from Damen. After a moment he tapped his fingers on the table and straightened up from his position. He gave Damen one last cold, assessing glance and then slowly walked towards the exit. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Vaness said, and took a deep sigh when Laurent didn’t bother to acknowledge her protest. Her brows took on a deep furrow and for a moment she stared blankly after him. But then Lana was plating the food and Vaness gained, or rather forced back her cheery moods once again. 

They sat around the large island, Lana needing a few minutes of coercion to actually join them, throughout which Nicaise divided his time between kicking Damen under the table or glaring at him with as much rage as a twelve year old could muster. 

The roast chicken did prove to be the best that Damen had tried, second only to Hypermenestra’s. 

 

Afterward, Damen was introduced to a man by the name of Toros, who, after providing Damen with more weapons than he could likely need, went down a list of questions about life in Akielos and about why and how Damen had chosen to come here. He was careful to, Damen noticed, not say a single thing that would directly criticize Vere, but he did seem to long for the outside world. He seemed to be the head of the security in the Regent’s affairs and when Damen asked whether he would be joining the post along with the rest of the men, he gave a haughty chuckle and said, “nah, you get the shit job. You’re strictly in charge of the brats.” The brats being Nicaise and Laurent, Damen realizes. He wasn’t sure whether it was Toros’ brash words that made his stomach flip, or the prospect of having to look at Laurent’s icy cold gaze again.

"Don't be fooled by a pretty face," he said, "that one will eat you alive, and the little one will watch."

“Why are they called atoners?” Damen asked, partly because he needed to know, and partly to just shut him up on the current topic. Twice already, he had heard the term tossed around. 

Toros gave him a puzzled look. “You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” he said. Damen was as aware of Vere’s affairs as Makedon and the years worth of research could have provided. In other words, not much. But he couldn't’ exactly tell Toros, the head of the Regent's security, that the agency that he was spying for was short on intel. 

“They’re children of sinners and traitors, atoning for their family’s mistakes and repaying the Republic, which in turn raises them up from the ashes,” Toros said, his voice gaining a hint of mock bravado halfway, like he was giving a rousing speech. When Damen looked more puzzled, he rolled his eyes. 

“Their families were against the revolution,” he said, “you know...back in the day.” His voice took on a hushed tone, like he was afraid that someone would overhear. “But they’re given a second chance.” 

***

The house from the inside felt impossibly more vast. It seemed that, in every corner there was some form of decoration and intricate design, it made Damen miss the simplicity of his apartment. Every inch of this place spotless, freshly cleaned. In fact, Damen couldn’t recall a single item out of place, outside or indoors. Where a clean environment usually had a calming effect on the mind, this strict organization caused a turmoil in the pit of his stomach. 

The hallways leading to his room were relatively bare, a few light bulbs lining the sides, and a light design on the wallpapers. Damen stood in front of his new room and paused. 

It felt impossible, somehow, that less than a day had passed since his arrival in Vere. That only hours ago, he had been in his bed, his dog burrowing his head into his shoulder to wake him up. That he had taken a quick jog around his neighborhood, had helped Mrs. Lorad take her groceries indoors. And now he was here, in this strange country which seemed to have cast itself back in time, thrown out all sense of ethics and rights, sorted its own people into castes so strict that Damen could have the freedom to utterly ignore a man’s very existence. 

“I don't’ know how it is in Akielos,” came Laurent’s steady voice, almost making him jump out of his skin, “but we have these things called handles that open doors if you twist them just the right way.” 

Laurent looked more relaxed from earlier in the kitchen, a few of the laces at his wrists and naval pulled loose. Damen tried not to stare at his neck, at the high cheekbones. A single blond strand lay out of place on Laurent’s immaculately neat hair. Damen wasn’t sure what was stronger, the desire to reach out and tuck it behind his ear, or the delight at seeing something out of place in Laurent’s strict and severe demeanor. 

“Sorry,” Damen said with a laugh, “I uh...got caught of in my head.” 

“Right,” Laurent said and made to walk down the hall. 

“Hey wait,” Damen said, walking towards him. Laurent didn’t stop right away, slowing his steps and then, reluctantly, pausing when Damen caught up. 

“I’m Damen,” he said, and extended his hand out. Laurent’s eyes moved down at his hand and slowly back up to his face. 

“We’ve met,” he said. “Twice.”

“That wasn’t a meeting,” Damen said, not lowering his hand. Laurent sighed. For a moment, Damen thought he would walk away, leave Damen hanging here with his arm outstretched like an idiot. But then, slowly, uncertainly, he reached out and took his hand. “Laurent,” he said. his hand was soft and warm in Damen’s.

“You happy?” Laurent said, moving his hand away when Damen wouldn’t. 

“Yes,” Damen said and couldn’t wipe the dopey smile off his face. This was the first time he’d felt a relative sense or normalcy since Loren had taken him across the river. 

“Can I go now?” Laurent said, a pale eyebrow raising. “Or do you need me to hold your hand through it?” 

“No, I’m great at opening doors,” Damen said, and may as well have face planted himself onto the floor. 

“Right,” Laurent said, turning.

“What are you doing here?” Damen asked. 

Laurent turned again, looking close to decking Damen across the jaw. 

“Well I was considering going to bed, we also tend to sleep in Vere.” 

“Your room is here,” Damen said, the words turning into a statement rather than a question halfway. “Right.”  _ You are responsible for the safety of the atoners _ , Radel had said. Of course Damen would need to be close by if he was going to do any protecting. Damen wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that the anyone in Vere was concerned for the safety of people like Laurent. Damen was just another means to an end. A tool in the attempt to keep the people under a firm fist and he had to remind himself who he really was to keep from being sick. 

“Good night, Damen,” Laurent said, and walked into the room a few doors down from his. 

“Good night,” Damen said, only after the door had closed behind him. 

That night, in the large soft bed and freshly smelling sheets, Damen stared at the empty walls, until the darkness turned to light. He collected the burning rage at the tip of his tongue and his whole being and slowly, delicately, stored it in the back of his mind, added it to the collection he’d made over the years, through the hours spent viewing files, testimonies, traumatized eyes and through raw training, so that one day he could pour it into this one mission. But missions took time. And patience. 

And Damen was well prepared. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: agusteofarles


End file.
